


where the love-light leads

by themaybedoctor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Morning, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is So Done (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Fun, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, so very tired but not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:33:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28339266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themaybedoctor/pseuds/themaybedoctor
Summary: Crowley would follow Aziraphale anywhere. It took Aziraphale a while to come around to a demon who would go wherever he wanted as long as they were together, but he's gotten used to it by now. In fact, he even misses the excitement of the chase a little, now that they're married. Surely there wouldn't be anything wrong with him making a little game of it, for nostalgia's sake? And really, what better day to do it than Christmas?Featuring cryptic notes, really ugly Christmas ornaments, and the Buggre Alle Thys Bible. Also two very in-love idiots.(edited to fix wording & a typo)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	where the love-light leads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThisIsAWarning706](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsAWarning706/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to my day-late Christmas fic :D This one is set a year and half-ish after the Not-pocalypse, in Crowley and Aziraphale's South Downs cottage that we all know and love. I hope you like it! Thanks to ThisIsAWarning706 for plot inspiration (and making me write it in the first place haha.) 
> 
> I giggled writing this and I hope you do the same while reading it! Enjoy :)

Crowley awoke on Christmas morning to the sound of perfect silence.

He grinned to himself without opening his eyes. So Aziraphale had decided to leave him alone for once. Aziraphale still didn’t bother much with sleeping, even though he was now unemployed and had endless time to do whatever he liked. He laid down next to Crowley with a book most nights, which was very nice until the sun began to peek its way over the horizon. At the first sign of sunrise, Aziraphale would leap out of bed and get ready for the day without even the slightest pretense at being quiet. Sometimes he even _talked_ , which was so intolerable that Crowley was sure there must be a law against it somewhere.

But there was none of that today. Today, the Crowley found himself awake because the light from their bedroom window was slanting in at just the right angle to hit him square in the eyelids. He scooted away from the offending beam and flopped onto his stomach, one hand creeping towards Aziraphale’s side of the bed. If Aziraphale was still there, they could have a cuddle, and if he wasn’t, the bed would be Crowley’s to sprawl out on as far as he pleased. The first option was preferable, but Crowley considered either one a win.

 _Crinkle-crunch_.

Crowley opened his eyes. His hand had met with something that was neither sheets, nor pillow, nor reclining angel. He closed his fist around it and dragged it towards him.

It was a note, written on Aziraphale’s best stationery and folded into quarters. Crowley’s cold blood froze. Oh, Satan. Oh, God. Aziraphale had decided to leave him, and he’d chosen Christmas to do it. Six thousand years of hoping and waiting, all down the drain. Though he didn’t technically need to breathe, Crowley found his breath coming faster and faster anyway as he stared at the note. Would it at least have an explanation? Or would it be a goodbye and nothing more?

There was only one way to find out. With trembling hands and bated breath, Crowley unfolded the note.

_Good morning, my darling, and merry Christmas! I hope you slept well. I miss you so when you’re asleep, but I know you love your rest._

_I’ve decided to play a little game this morning! If you can find me before the clock strikes eleven, I will perform a temptation of your choice, whenever you would like. And yes, I do mean ANY temptation. However! If you do not find me before the time is up, you will have to perform a miracle of my choice. So up you get, and let us play!_

_Love,_

_Aziraphale_

Crowley let out a long, trembling exhale and sank down into the pillow. For almost a full minute, he didn’t twitch a muscle as the realization that Aziraphale hadn’t just left him forever sank in. When his heart rate had gone back to mostly-normal, he picked up the note and read it again.

_If you can find me…_

What was that supposed to mean? Had Aziraphale left home? Crowley couldn’t feel his presence in the house, but that didn’t signify anything—Aziraphale could stop Crowley from sensing him if he wanted to.

_…before the clock strikes eleven…_

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. He sat up. There was probably some twist to this, but the ancient desire to beat Aziraphale at something was already burning in his veins. He snatched his phone off the bedside table, yanking it roughly off of the charger. It made its usual bright tinkle and flashed the time: 10:47.

“Shit!”

The next ten seconds were a whirl of movement and pain. Crowley leapt out of bed, jammed his feet into his slippers, and attempted to run around the bed towards the door, only to stub his toe on the leg and crash to the ground like a felled tree.

“Aaaahhh! Bloody h—nnnnghhh. Rrrrhg.”

Normally, he would have stuck around to scream at the bed and perhaps curse it a little—but there was no time. One healing miracle later, Crowley was up and running for the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom, he sprinted to the front door, intending to see whether there were footprints leading away from the front door. It had been snowing when they’d gone to bed the night before, so if Aziraphale had left the house…

Crowley reached the front door, ripped it open, and stared down at a pristine white expanse of snow. Nothing. Aziraphale must still be inside—or, Crowley thought glumly, he was smart enough to cover his tracks. He slammed the door and was about to lock it when he noticed that taped above the knob was…another note.

He pulled it off.

_No need to look out there, my dear! It’s far too cold to go outside, don’t you think? Today is the kind of day to stay inside with a hot drink._

Crowley laughed. So this was how it was going to be. He stuffed the note in his pocket and turned on his heel.

“The kitchen,” he muttered to himself, half-walking, half-running in its direction as he said it. “He had to have gone in there to make himself cocoa when he got up.”

He was right. After a minute of frantic rifling through the kitchen cupboards, he found another note. This one was stuck to the milk bottle, and it read:

_Ah, you know me so well. But what’s a cup of cocoa without a good book?_

The library! Crowley dashed out of the kitchen, almost slipping on the tile as he rounded the corner. The door was open. He rushed through it, only to stop short as he realized the dilemma that now lay before him.

The problem was this: When they’d moved to the South Downs, Aziraphale had insisted on bringing his entire collection to their little cottage, even though it barely fit inside the bookshop. Crowley had been forced to stretch the library to fit it, so it was now much bigger on the inside than it should have been, given the outer dimensions of the cottage. If it had been of an ordinary size, Crowley might have been able to find the note in a few hours by shaking out each book individually. (He was sure that Aziraphale would not approve of using miracles on books.) But he only had minutes, not hours, and the library had thousands upon thousands of volumes. There was simply no way Crowley could ever find the note in time by guessing.

Crowley pulled the milk bottle note out again and stared at it.

_But what’s a cup of cocoa without a good book?_

_A good book_. How was that supposed to help? Aziraphale thought all his books were good. That was the whole point of his having brought them all here. He shoved the note back in his pocket and glared up at the towering bookshelves.

“A good book,” he muttered mockingly to himself. “If he thinks I’m going to go through every damn book in this place, he’s got another thing…”

The next word died in his mouth. _A_ good book. Or maybe… _the_ Good Book.

Crowley spun like a top and began sprinting towards Aziraphale’s safe. All the Bibles were in there, including Aziraphale’s favorite misprint—the one in which the typesetter had inserted a bitter polemic against his bosses near the end of the book of Ezekiel. Aziraphale had read it to Crowley once, when they were drunk, and nearly cried laughing. It _must_ be that one.

Upon reaching the safe, Crowley unlocked it, pulled it open, and peered in, having been trusted by Aziraphale with the code many years ago. There it was, right on top—the book Aziraphale referred to affectionately as his Buggre Alle This Bible. Crowley seized it and flipped to Ezekiel. What chapter had it been again?

“Chapter thirty-seven,” he mumbled to himself as he turned the pages. “Chapter forty-one…chapter forty-six…forty-seven…oh, come on…forty-eight… _Yes_!”

Before the note could fall out, Crowley snatched it up and read it, not even bothering to put the Bible back first. This turned out to be a lucky thing, because the new note read:

_Oh, very good! Bravo, my dear. That was a difficult one. You’re very close now. Here is your last clue: Genesis, chapter three, verse twenty-five._

Crowley smiled. If he’d had more time, he would have read all of Genesis just for fun. Few of the events it chronicled had been pleasant at the time, but Crowley would not have changed any of them even if he could, for they had all led him here, to Aziraphale and more happiness than he'd ever felt in Heaven.

But there was no time for that now. He still had a bet to win, and only three more minutes to do it, according to his phone. Crowley turned to Genesis chapter three, and found himself reading a verse he’d never seen before:

_And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying Where is the flaming sword which was given unto thee?_

_And the Angel said, I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my head next._

_And the Lord did not ask him again._

Crowley laughed out loud. He of course knew the story of Aziraphale giving away the sword, even the part about lying to Her, but Aziraphale had never mentioned having slipped it into the Bible.

“Cheeky bugger,” he murmured to himself as he replaced the book. “Glad She didn’t smite him. Best angel She ever made.”

When the safe was locked once more, Crowley stood up. He walked (well, swaggered) towards the library door, knowing with absolute certainty where Aziraphale must be. His cool strut took him out of the library, down the hall, and into the sitting room, where their Christmas tree was softly glowing near a window.

Crowley had originally wanted nothing to do with this tree. It was Aziraphale who had insisted on getting it, and then roped Crowley into decorating it. This had turned out to be a wonderful opportunity to mess with him. It was crowned with the world’s ugliest baby angel tree-topper and had several ornaments that Crowley argued were “funny” and “modern” but that Aziraphale referred to as “ugly” and “disgusting.” These included a roll of toilet paper, a grinning poop emoji, Father Christmas bending over with his trousers halfway off his arse, and a pair of copulating gingerbread men.

However, Crowley considered his crowning achievement in irritating Aziraphale not to be any of these, but instead a small metal ornament shaped like a flaming sword. Aziraphale had almost refused to allow it on the tree, insisting that he had never wanted the real thing in the first place and didn’t need a symbol of it in his house. Crowley had eventually talked him round, but it had taken him a while to find the right button to press.

(“I won’t have it, Crowley. I’m putting my foot down. Take it off.”

“ _But_ , if you’d never had it, you couldn’t have given it away. And I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

“Oh. Oh, Crowley. I’m sure you would have, eventually. Don’t say that.”

“Fine. I’ll take it off.”

“Well…actually…”)

Crowley sauntered up to the tree, his face splitting into an ear-to-ear grin at the memory of his triumph. He peeked behind the tree, half expecting Aziraphale to be standing there, but all he saw was their presents for each other.

No matter. Crowley crouched down and reached into the tree, feeling for the ornament. Aziraphale had hung it so far back it was nearly invisible, but Crowley knew where it was. As soon as he felt the point of it against his hand, he grabbed it and pulled it off. The last note had proclaimed itself to be the last clue, so surely the sword would have one with the answer? He extracted his hand from the tree, brushed the needles off his nightdress, opened his hand…

…and saw nothing but the ornament. Crowley turned it over, his heart sinking. Still nothing. He pulled out his phone. Only forty-five seconds left until eleven—not enough time to do anything other than sit back and wait for the clock to chime.

Crowley sighed and closed the ornament back in his fist. What would Aziraphale have him do? Heal an entire hospital ward? Make a corrupt politician see the error of their ways? Convince fashion designers to give women’s trousers decently-sized pockets? Ugh. The last one would be awful—years of work, down the drain.

In despair, Crowley collapsed back onto the carpet. He stared unseeingly up at the Christmas tree, already imagining the horrors that lay ahead. Maybe he could convince Aziraphale to let him do something easy? He could offer to miracle all the gauche Christmas ornaments into something nice. Put Santa’s trousers back on, uncouple the gingerbread men, turn the baby angel into…

into…

…wait.

Crowley forced his eyes to focus on the tree-topper. It didn’t look like it had the day before—it was still wearing white robes, but it was no longer a baby, no longer ugly, and looked a lot like…

He leapt up just as the clock began to chime. The tree was nearly nine feet tall, so it took every inch of his height to reach the squirming, laughing, very alive angel sitting on top of the tree. One moment Crowley was glaring at his six-inch-tall husband in his hand, and the next he was standing next to the full-sized version, who was still laughing just as hard.

“Oh my goodness,” Aziraphale said, gasping for breath. “I really thought you weren’t going to get it for a minute there. You walked _right_ by me, I couldn’t believe it, it was ever so hard not to—”

“Yeah, very funny,” Crowley snapped. “I still win.”

Aziraphale beamed. “Yes, my dear, you still win. I’m so very proud of you; you did so well. Do you know what you want me to do for a temptation yet?”

“Seduce the Queen. With Philip in the room and everything. Now.”

Aziraphale’s smile slid away, and his shoulders sagged. Crowley kept up his stern façade for as long as he could, but when Aziraphale made to walk away, presumably to go prepare for the awful deed, he grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close.

“I’m just kidding, angel,” he whispered in Aziraphale’s ear. “I wouldn’t make you do that. I’ll pick something else, don’t worry. Like making all of Piers Morgan’s shoes too small.”

“All right,” Aziraphale mumbled, twisting around and wrapping his arms around Crowley’s neck. He didn’t laugh. “I would have, you know. A promise is a promise.”

Crowley kissed his neck. “I know. But I would never make you, even if I really was angry, which I’m not. It was kind of fun, actually. Would have been even more fun if I hadn’t slept so late. What would you have done if I’d slept past eleven, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Called the whole thing off.”

Crowley drew back and took Aziraphale’s face in his hands. He still looked miserable, so Crowley kissed him until the ends of his mouth were turned up in a faint smile again.

“Merry Christmas, angel,” he whispered, squeezing Aziraphale’s soft hips. “Love you.”

Aziraphale shivered. They had said those words so many times they should have been meaningless by now, but Crowley knew they never would be, not even if another six thousand years should go by.

“I love you too, darling. Would you like to change before we open presents? I know I should, I look ridiculous like this.”

Crowley pulled away slightly and looked him up and down. With the robes on he looked almost exactly like he had in Eden. And so, Crowley realized at almost the same moment, did he—his black nightdress was only a few inches shorter than the outfit he’d been wearing when they’d first met.

He laughed. “Look at us, angel. Remind you of anything?”

Aziraphale looked, and a moment later he was laughing, too. When he looked back up, his face was glowing with the exquisite joy of sharing a joke with the one you love. He looked just as beautiful as he had the first time Crowley had ever set eyes on him, except now Crowley was allowed to touch him, kiss him, murmur sweet things in his ear. All privileges that Crowley was happy to abuse.

Later, when ordinary clothes had been donned, presents opened, candy eaten, and cheesy Christmas movies watched, a thought from earlier in the day drifted back through Crowley’s head. He turned to Aziraphale, who was pressed up next to him on the sofa near the fireplace, and gave voice to it, watching in satisfaction as Aziraphale’s face bloomed into a smile.

“I’m much happier with you than I ever was in Heaven too, darling. Even in the beginning, when everything was new and all we knew was Her presence.”

He glanced upward, but nothing happened. Crowley cocked his head.

“Do you ever wonder why that is? Why we’re happier now than we were then?”

Aziraphale considered this. “I suppose…because we didn’t have a choice, back then. She never asked us whether we wanted to follow Her. She didn’t ask for our love. But you and I, we choose to love each other, to follow each other even when the road is rocky. And that, I think, makes all the difference.”

Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Aziraphale hummed and rested his head on Crowley’s. As they sat there in silence, listening to the crackling of the fire and watching its light dance about the room, Crowley suddenly felt the urge to say a certain something. It was not something that needed saying—Aziraphale surely already knew. But he wanted to all the same.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Angel.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll always go where you lead me.”

A sigh, a squeeze of the hand.

“Oh, my love. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Well, I already have. But I’d do it again.”

Crowley smiled, a small, secret thing, and let himself melt even further into Aziraphale’s side. The fire blazed, and until it burned out, they said nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> I REALLY love comments. You don't have to leave 'em, but they make me SUPER happy. Thank you for reading whether you comment or not <3


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